Hi,
Today I spent a fair amount of time on the subway thanking baby jesus that I thought to refresh The Huffington Post on the world's greatest portable phone that can do pretty much everything besides cook me dinner, satisfy my libido and actually let me have a complete telephone conversation in one sitting. But before I tell you all about what I read while I went to and from having a surprisingly pleasant and expedient experience renewing my driver's license so that I could rent a car in Florida this weekend when I surprise my mom on Mother's Day and win an award for being the greatest son on the planet, I should tell you that today I went the greatest voice over audition ever. Not that the copy for modern advertising is devoid of wit, languid linguistics or short on cunning deceit (see your local Lottery adverts) but today I must say I found myself pleasantly distracted from the news of exploding manhole covers apparently just 8 or so blocks from where I stood to find this little gem in my inbox:
Anyway, in order to calm myself down and not get too attached to being the voice of a show about one of rocks truly great singer songwriters, or anything else that I might in any way be even a little bit entitled to at least having a crack at, I clicked open my HuffPost application and immediately began reminiscing about all the stupid s#!t my buddies and I have done over the years. I thought about the broken rib I got wrestling with my coworker Franky while working as the announce on the California AIDs Ride back in 2002. Which of course reminded me of the time my pal and failed guitar god Michael Prince Rocco Vittaco were walking home from a late night of pool and $3 Buds over at the Blue and Gold and proceeded to have a spirited game of "let's see who can push his friend into a pile of rat infested garbage on the sidewalk of 1st Ave?" Apparently I took our little game too far and he ended up punching me in the chest, which of course landed me a different broken rib. While none would involve broken ribs, I could indulge you with more stories of adult idiocy caged in the guise of primordial male bonding, but I'll choose to digress as I'm certain you're by now just chomping at the proverbial bit to know the inspiration for my little trip down memory lane. And so with a strange kind of pleasure, I present the most f@#$ed up thing I read via the Huffington Post today in full, since I know how tired your index finger gets from clicking on your mouse:
Man Dies After Eel Is Inserted In His Rectum
A Chinese man has died after an eel was inserted in rectum by friends as, reports claim, a joke.
Doctors in Sichaun, China, apparently found the creature, a 50cm Asian swamp eel, in the 59-year-old man's rectum after he had died from internal bleeding.
The eel had reportedly done severe damage to the man's intestines.
While doctors were initially baffled as to how the eel could have gotten there, the man's friends allegedly confessed that they had inserted the live creature as a joke after a bout of heavy drinking.
After that I read about a dude who, after contemplating the following advice from his father ... "Sean, it doesn't matter what you do; just make sure it's something you're passionate about. I've been alive for nearly sixty years and have yet to find something I'm passionate about besides your mother." ... decided to spend the last year getting a different job every week so he could find one that actually interests him.
And then after that I read about a woman in the most overrated state in the union unless you're talking about the defending NBA Champion Los Angeles Lakers who has raised 36 foster children.
And then I remembered that not only is today May 3rd, but that a long time ago I was adopted by a guy who among other things, did his best to keep me safe from the kinds of people that would insert foreign objects into areas otherwise intended as an exit only, was always supportive of and interested in things that I was interested in, and would have celebrated his birthday today.
Mwah!
M
P.S. Should you be interested in stories about dad's not being supportive of their kids ...
P.P.S. You should come to Banjo Jim's on Tuesday May 18th ...
P.P.P.S. And listen close to the lyrics of the third song in my set.
P.P.P.P.S. Should you not be inclined to give a crap what I have to say and you just wanna rock to my good looking backing band ...
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